Anne was not quite so happy about another foursome which had formed. She tried hard to like all the children equally and to have no favourites, but teachers were only human. Besides, teachers learned to pick out instinctively the ones that might be the ‘bad apples in the crop’. And it was amazing how quickly such girls – and they were usually girls, not boys – discovered one another. She had noticed Esme Clough back in Armley, a troublemaker who picked on the younger children in the school yard and who, according to some other members of staff, was a cheat and a telltale. But Anne preferred to find out such things for herself rather than listen to staff room gossip. Esme had soon become pally with two local girls, Gertrude Flint and Norma Wilkins, although Norma seemed to be in thrall to her more dominant friend. This trio had soon been joined by a girl called Paula Jeffries, one of the Hull evacuees.
For some reason – although, as Anne knew, there did not always need to be a reason – this quartet seemd to dislike the other four girls. She had seen the ‘Gertie foursome’ – which is how she thought of them, Gertrude Flint seeming to be the leader – jeering and pointing at the ‘Maisie foursome’ in the playground; and there were nudges and snide glances exchanged – which Anne, so far, had chosen not to comment upon – whenever one of the others, usually Maisie, did well in a class test.
Ivy Clegg had a little brother, Timothy, who was in the Infant class, taught by Miss Foster in the annexe classroom. He was a dear little boy, but rather an unprepossessing one. He had pale sandy hair like that of his sister, spindly legs and bony knees, and wire-framed spectacles from which his pale blue eyes looked out like a frightened baby owl. Fortunately, he had been housed with Ivy at the home of a gentle elderly couple and his big sister did her best to look after him, but he did not appear to have made any friends, so far, at school.
He tried to cling to his sister at playtimes, but Ivy, understandably, wanted to play with her own friends, and she would sometimes tell him to go and play with his own classmates and leave her alone. Anne noticed one such incident when she was on playground duty.
Ivy and her three friends were playing a skipping game; two of them were holding the ends of the rope and the other two were taking turns at jumping in and chanting,
‘Jelly on a plate, jelly on a plate,
Wibble wobble, wibble wobble, jelly on a plate…’
They had just got to the ‘sausage in a pan’ chorus when Timothy appeared, running towards Ivy who was holding one end of the rope. He cannoned into her and made her drop her end.
‘Oh, look what you’ve gone and done,’ she cried. ‘Do go away, our Timothy. You’re spoiling our game. An’ it’s my turn to skip an’ all. See, there’s a little boy over there who’s on his own. Go and play with him.’
‘Don’t want to! I want to stay with you,’ said Timothy, sniffing, then wiping his sleeve across his damp nose.
‘Aw, let him stay,’ said Maisie. ‘He’s not doing any harm. Let him watch.’
‘No! He’ll only spoil it,’ replied Ivy.
The other four girls, led by Gertie Flint, were watching the incident with interest.
‘Aw, diddums!’ said Gertie. ‘Isn’t he sweet? I wish I had a little brother like that. I wouldn’t be nasty with him, would you Esme?’
‘No,’ said Esme. ‘Would I heck as like! You come and play with us, Timothy.’
‘Yeah, you come ’ere, an’ I’ll give yer one o’ my pear drops,’ said Paula, the girl from Hull. ‘Yer sister’s dead mean, i’n’t she, telling yer to go away.’
‘But we’ll let yer play, Timothy…’
The little boy looked uncertain for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘No…don’t want to,’ he said.
The foursome went away shrieking with laughter, and Anne, who had guessed that their gesture of friendliness was not sincere, decided to intervene. ‘Come along, Timothy,’ she said. ‘Let the big girls finish their skipping game. We’ll go and talk to that little boy, shall we? He’s all on his own.’
Timothy looked up at her, then he smiled shyly and put his hand into hers. ‘He’s called Peter,’ he said.
The little ones sometimes liked the security of holding the teacher’s hand at playtime. The school yard could be a noisy and intimidating place to children of a more nervous disposition, although, usually, they quite soon became used to the din and often boisterous behaviour. Peter was another lonely little boy that Anne had noticed. Perhaps the two of them just needed a little encouragement to make friends.
‘Do you two know one another?’ she asked, stooping down to talk to the dark-haired, rather plump little boy. ‘I expect you do.’
‘Yeah…we’re in Miss Foster’s class,’ replied Peter. ‘He’s a ’vacuee…’ He pointed at Timothy, ‘but I live ’ere. I’ve only just come back to school, though. I’ve been ill, y’see, and there’s all different kids in our class now. We’ve all been mixed up, like.’
‘That’s so you can get to know one another,’ said Anne. ‘Perhaps you and Timothy could be friends. What do you think about that?’
The two little boys looked at one another seriously for a moment, then Peter nodded. ‘Aye, p’raps we could,’ he said.
Timothy nodded too, but a little unsurely. ‘Yes…all right,’ he said.
‘Come on, Timothy,’ said Peter. ‘Come over ’ere an’ I’ll show you summat. I’ve got a reight big conker in me pocket. D’yer want to see it?’
Timothy nodded again, and as he was starting to smile a little Anne decided to leave them to it. But she sensed that the situation might need watching. Little Timothy Clegg was just the sort of child who attracted the attention of teasers and bullies, and his big sister was not one who would find it easy to defend him. But she was reluctant to say anything to Miss Foster lest the older teacher should think she was interfering. After all, the two little boys in question were in her class and were, largely, her responsibility.
But it was Charity who mentioned the incident, and not Anne. Charity had been watching the playground scene from her classroom window, as she often did. ‘You’ve worked wonders with little Timothy Clegg,’ she said, as they were having their evening meal. ‘I saw it all through the window.’ She laughed. ‘Yes, I’m an old busy-body, aren’t I?’
‘I think I’m the busybody, not you,’ replied Anne. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was sticking my nose in. They are your pupils.’
‘Not at all, dear,’ said Charity. ‘Timothy has been rather a problem. I put him to sit with a local boy, Joey, and asked him to look after him, but they didn’t seem to hit it off at all. I think Joey thought he was a ‘softie’. So then I put him with a rather fussy little girl – you know the type; a motherly little soul – but that wasn’t much better; but I didn’t want to move him again. Anyway, he and Peter Harris came running in as thick as thieves, and I thought, ‘Yes! This is it.’ I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about it before. Peter’s been off with bronchitis; he suffers with his chest, poor little lad, and he’s a bit of a loner as well. So, we’ve had a move round – again – and now they are sitting together, as happy as Larry. Thank you, my dear. Do you know, sometimes one can’t see what is right under one’s nose… Now…’ Charity’s eyes twinkled. ‘Didn’t you say you had something to ask me, Anne? Might it be something to do with that young man of yours?’
She listened quietly, smiling to herself; then, rather to Anne’s surprise, she agreed that Bill could stay for the night when he came to Middlebeck. And he would not need to sleep on the settee as she had a camp bed for such emergencies. He was due to come in a fortnight’s time, the first weekend in November.
Chapter Eleven
Audrey, will you do summat for me?’ asked Daisy. ‘A big favour, like…’
It was a Saturday morning in mid-November and the two of them were washing up the breakfast pots.
‘Yes, I s’pose so. What is it you want then?’ Audrey guessed it might be peeling the potatoes or scrubbing the carrots whilst Daisy went to the grocer’s down the High
Streeet, which she often did on a Saturday morning. But she didn’t usually ask, taking it for granted that Audrey would perform her usual chores; she certainly wouldn’t refer to it as a big favour.
‘Well, it’s a bit – what shall I say? – difficult, like. You know, Audrey, don’t yer, about my ‘intended’…’ That was how Daisy often referred to Andy Cartwright, her young man who farmed for Mr Tremaine.
‘Yer boyfriend? Yes, course I know him,’ replied Audrey. She had met him on the day when Doris had showed her and Maisie round the estate, and she had seen him several times since then when he came to call for Daisy on her half day off. He always waited outside, though; Miss Thomson would not allow him to set foot inside the house.
‘Well, he’s been called up, has Andy. He’s got his papers an’ he’s got to go on Monday. I’m seeing him tonight, after I’ve finished here.’
‘So you want me to finish off the pots so you can get off early? Is that it? Yeah…I don’t mind, Daisy. But I don’t want to get into trouble with Miss Thomson. Does she know you want to go out?’
‘She can’t stop me, can she? I can do as I like, so long as I’ve done me work here. No…it weren’t acksherly about the washing-up. It’s summat more important than that. You know how I’ve always to be in by half-past nine, don’t yer? Even when it’s me proper day off she insists I get in early. Then she makes a great to-do about locking t’ door and making sure the bolts are on an’ all that…’
‘Ye…es,’ said Audrey, a shade doubtfully. She was always in bed by that time and usually asleep. If Daisy was going out for the evening, which she was allowed to do occasionally, then Miss Thomson made a great concession by allowing Audrey to sit with her in the dining room at the back of the house, the only room, apart from the kitchen, where there was a lighted fire. Audrey much preferred to be in the kitchen with Daisy; it was always warm in there with the coals constantly glowing in the big black range; the rest of the house was decidedly chilly now that autumn was here.
‘Well…’ said Daisy. ‘What I want you to do is this. When Miss Thomson’s gone to sleep – you’ll know she’s asleep ’cause you’ll hear her snoring – I want you to sneak down and pull the bolt back on the front door…then I can stay out late, y’see. Don’t worry; I’ll push it back when I come in. She’ll never know… What’s up? Don’t yer want to do it? She’ll not find out, not if we’re dead careful.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense, what you’re saying,’ replied Audrey. ‘She’ll know you’re not in when she locks up, won’t she? She never locks the doors, neither the front or the back, until she’s heard you come in. That’s what you told me…’
‘Aye, that’s right, but I’m going to be real crafty, like. I shall come in through the back door and shout goodnight to ’er, like I always do – she never gets up off her backside to say goodnight back to me anyroad – an’ then I shall sneak off out again. She’ll think I’m upstairs in me little room, but I won’t be. I’ll be with Andy. I can’t leave him at half-past nine, not when he’s going away on Monday, an’ I shan’t see him again for God knows how long. Please, Audrey; you’ll do it won’t yer? Just for me. Aw, go on, please…’
Audrey knew that Daisy was not ‘the sharpest knife in the drawer’; that was an expression she had heard her mother use and she understood perfectly what it meant. Daisy did not always apply a great deal of common sense to what she said, and this idea, to Audrey, appeared to be full of holes.
‘But…how will you get in?’ she said. ‘It’s not just the bolt, is it? The door’s locked with a key. And you haven’t got a key…have you?’
‘Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Daisy, grinning. ‘There’s a spare one, you know…’
‘But she’ll notice if you take it. Anyway, how would you get hold of it? D’you know where she keeps it? No…’ Audrey shook her head emphatically. ‘It won’t work. She probably keeps it in her handbag.’
Daisy laughed. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, see. She keeps it in a little tray on ’er dressing table. An’ I borrowed it one day when she were out at her whist drive. I knew she’d be gone ages, so I went down to t’ cobblers in t’ market hall – he cuts keys as well as mending shoes – an’ he made me another as fast as anything. So now I’ve got me own key, and old Amelia knows nowt about it.’
‘But…you know how she makes me go to bed at nine o’ clock? An’ I don’t know what time you’ll be coming in, do I? I might’ve gone to sleep…’
‘Yer don’t have to wait till just before I come in, silly! It’ll be late anyroad.’
‘Why? Where are you going? What are you going to do?’
Diasy grinned and tapped at her nose with her forefinger. ‘Mind yer own business, kid,’ she said, but not unkindly. ‘Never you mind what I’ll be doing… You want to know where I’m going? To Andy’s probably. His mam’ll make us a fire in t’ front room, but I daresn’t stay out all night or else t’ fat really would be in t’ fire. I’ll come back…oh, about one o’ clock, I reckon. It’s just so as Andy and me can have a bit more time together.’
Audrey looked solemnly at her. She liked Daisy a lot, even though the young woman made her do a lot of jobs around the house – well, not exactly forced her to, but more or less expected that she would – and she wanted to do something to help her. It was real romantic, she thought, Daisy wanting to see her young man for the last time before he joined the army.
‘Are you going to say yes, then?’ asked Daisy. ‘Please, please, Audrey! I’ll be ever so quiet when I come in, and old Amelia sleeps like a log. She’ll be dead to the world till I wake ’er up with ’er cup of tea in t’ morning. I’ll have to make sure I’m up meself, mind.’ She giggled. ‘I’ll only get four or five hours at t’most if I set my alarm for six, like I usually do. Still, ne’er mind, eh? It’ll be worth it.’
Audrey started to smile a little unsurely, her blue eyes wide as she considered the audacity and the possible dangers of Daisy’s plan. But it was so romantic, just like something you read in a book. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it for you, Daisy.’
The young woman flung her arms round her. ‘Gosh, thanks kid! You’re a little luv, honest you are.’
‘I shall have to keep awake meself though,’ said Audrey. ‘I shall read under the bedclothes with me torch. I do sometimes when I can’t get to sleep. And then I’ll creep down and listen outside Miss Thomson’s door to hear if she’s snoring.’
She giggled a little, too, beginning to be caught up in the excitement of the plot; but part of her was scared and somewhat unwilling because she knew that it was deceitful. Audrey had always been taught to behave correctly and not to tell lies; and this was just as bad as lying. It was being sneaky and dishonest and she knew that her mother would not like it at all. Neither, she suspected, would that nice Mrs Fairchild who looked after Maisie. Audrey liked Mrs Fairchild and she thought Maisie was very lucky to be staying there with her and the rector; he was lovely, too. She had to try very hard to hide her feelings of envy for her friend’s situation; but she knew that, back home in Armley, Maisie had had a pretty rotten time with her awful step-father and -brother, so she did deserve some happiness now. And she, Audrey, had not fared too badly… Daisy had said she had to think of her as a big sister, and that was very nice; she had always wished she had a sister or a brother.
‘You’re sure it’ll be OK, aren’t you?’ she asked now. ‘I mean…nothing’ll go wrong?’
‘No, how can it?’ said Daisy. ‘Don’t worry; it’ll be OK. Look, I’ll let you off peeling t’ spuds this morning, seeing as ’ow you’re going to ’elp me. Off you go now and see young Maisie. Not a word though, mind, not to anyone…’
‘No, of course not,’ said Audrey.
She put on her coat and woolly hat and walked across the village green, deep in thought. She was remembering that last weekend, when she and Maisie, together with their other friends, Ivy and Doris, had been shopping in the High Street, they had met Miss Mellodey, arm in
arm with a handsome airman. The couple had just been coming out of Woolworth’s and Miss Mellodey had stopped to speak to them and not hurried away as though she hadn’t seen them, as Audrey guessed some teachers might do, especially if they were with their boyfriend.
‘Hello girls,’ she had said, smiling happily at them. ‘This is my fiancé, Bill. Bill, this is Audrey, and Maisie, and Ivy, and Doris; four of my very special girls.’ She had actually told him all their names, and he had smiled and said, ‘Hello there; I’m very pleased to meet you all.’
Miss Mellodey’s blue eyes had sparkled with delight and with what Audrey – and the other girls, talking about it afterwards – had decided was ‘the light of love’. Maisie said she had read that somewhere in a book, and they all thought it was dead romantic. They had felt so glad for Miss Mellodey, but sad as well because they knew Bill had only come to see her for a short while, and then he would be going back again, learning to fly an aeroplane or whatever he was doing. When they had gone back to school after the half-term holiday Audrey had fancied that their teacher had looked a bit unhappy, but she was just as pleasant and kind to them as ever.
And Daisy was another young woman who would soon be saying goodbye to the young man she loved. Yes…Audrey nodded to herself. Maybe it would not be so very wrong to help her.
Above the Bright Blue Sky Page 17
